Chapter 7

HANNAH

Thirty minutes later, I was transferring a delicious-looking cake from the kitchen fridge into the display case when an attractive woman in a colorful jumpsuit, sandals, and short brown hair walked up to the counter. In her hands was a piece of paper. My stomach dropped. Shit, I bet this is the jobseeker George mistook me for, and my cover is about to be blown.

I hovered nervously near the counter, pretending to wipe a stubborn mark off the display case so I could listen to their conversation. Thankfully, despite my hearing aid still missing in action, the café had just opened so the background noise was minimal.

The woman grinned at George, who was trying to fix a paper jam in the receipt printer. “Hi! Sorry, is now a bad time?”

George lifted her head and smiled. “Hey, Olivia! Nope, all good. This is always acting up. Good thing hardly anyone needs receipts. You’re earlier than usual.”

“Yeah, I thought I’d pop in before I open. I’m actually here for books. Everyone in my family has their birthday over the next two months, and this year I’m trying to be organized for once. I was hoping you could give me some recommendations.”

I breathed out in relief. Olivia, whoever she was, wasn’t the jobseeker.

“That sounds like a lot more fun than trying to fix this,” George said, putting the printer on the counter and giving Olivia her full attention. “What were you thinking?”

“Maybe a biography or something similar for Blake, a fantasy novel for Dad, and a romance novel for Mom? You’ve probably got a better idea than me what they like. I’m giving Dave two kid-free date nights with Aunty Olivia on twin-sitting duties, so we don’t need to worry about him.” Olivia grimaced. “I just hope I survive the chaos of the twin tornado.”

George laughed. “You might need Blake for reinforcements.” Her smile widened. “I actually have the perfect idea for your dad. We both love H. M. Stuart, and I just got a whole pile of his latest release delivered. The release date isn’t until the end of June, so I can’t give it to you now. But if I had it wrapped and ready to go by then, would that work?”

I paused my scrubbing of the display case for a second. When I’d been offered my book deal, I’d insisted on using my initials and a different last name for anonymity. While Tania, who at that point was still only my editor and not my partner, was sympathetic to my request, it was not well-received by senior management at the publisher who expected authors to market their books. Tania had fought hard to convince her bosses to respect my desire for privacy, and one of the arguments she’d made was that one “benefit” of the arrangement would be that many readers would assume I was a man. According to Tania, there was a bias in favor of male fantasy writers. And she was right. My publisher had been careful not to specify my gender and I’d been surprised at just how many people assumed H. M. Stuart was a man—including, it seemed, George. I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about that, but since I’d also assumed George was a man based on her name, I couldn’t exactly be too critical. And hearing her recommend my book lit a warm glow in my chest.

“Perfect!” Olivia exclaimed.

George paused for a moment, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I think your mom would love Abby Jimenez’s latest. It’s got great banter, some laugh-out-loud moments, but it also explores some deeper issues.”

My smile reflected in the now gleaming display case. Abby Jimenez was one of my favorite authors of straight romance too.

“That sounds just up her alley. And then I can read it once she’s finished with it.”

“And for Blake, let me see…” George wandered toward the non-fiction aisle, Olivia following. They returned a few minutes later, Olivia holding a grim-looking political-history book as well as Ashley Herring Blake’s Iris Kelly Doesn’t Date. That was interesting. Presumably, the political-history book was for the Blake person she’d mentioned. Was the sapphic romance for Olivia or someone else? I loved that book. I’d related so strongly to both characters—one a romance author with writer’s block, and the other, an actor who had anxiety and panic attacks. Had George recommended it?

I’d stopped scrubbing the display case of non-existent marks and was now wiping the counter of invisible crumbs. While I felt guilty for being so nosy, my guilt wasn’t strong enough to overcome my desire to hear the rest of their conversation. For some reason, I was keen to find out as much as I could about George.

George processed the payment, wrapped the books, and handed them to Olivia in a paper bag. “Here you go!”

“Thanks! It’s so good to have this all settled now.” Olivia gave George a relieved smile. “I’ll be back later with the flowers and candles.”

Flowers and candles? I furrowed my brow, unsettled. Were they planning a romantic night together? They would make an extremely cute couple, but I hadn’t picked up on any romantic undertones in their interactions. Although, Olivia had bought a sapphic romance… A sinking sensation in my stomach signaled disappointment. I shook it off. Don’t be silly, Hannah. You hardly know George. And the last thing you need right now is a new relationship.

A customer stood from a table as Olivia left the store, so I walked over to clear it. On my way back from dropping the dirty plates to the kitchen, I passed George standing in front of Hugo frothing milk. She turned to me and grinned. “I just sold one copy of The Realm of Furies. One down, only eight-hundred and forty left to go. Which reminds me, I really need to call the distributor about the delivery so I don’t need to hand sell the rest!”

My stomach dropped even further at the prospect of George calling the distributor. They’d likely put her in touch with the publisher, who’d fill her in on the real reason why 841 books had been delivered to her doorstep. Would George connect the dots and work out who I was? Probably not since she thinks H. M. Stuart is a man.

The flowers and candles comment made sense twenty minutes later, when Olivia reappeared with a cart full of colorful bouquets and candles. I’d just delivered a coffee to a customer at a nearby table, so I rushed to help her with the door, trying not to look too pleased that Olivia’s delivery was clearly for the café, rather than to woo George.

“Thank you.” Olivia smiled at me.

“Hannah, this is Olivia.” George materialized behind me. “She owns the flower shop down the road and supplies us with flowers for the tables. We also sell her candles. Olivia, Hannah just started working here yesterday.”

Olivia dropped the cart’s handle and reached out her hand. “Lovely to meet you, Hannah. I’m sorry I don’t have time to chat, but I’ve got to rush off to open up.”

I shook Olivia’s hand and then helped her replace the slightly wilted white daisies with bright bunches of yellow and red zinnias while George restocked the shelf next to the counter with rustic-looking candles in brown glass jars.

“See you tonight!” Olivia said to George as she left. The unsettled feeling descended over me again. Perhaps there was something going on between them after all. Not that I care. They both seem like lovely people. I should be happy for them.

The next few times a woman came in by herself, my chest tightened in anticipation that they might be the real jobseeker whose position I’d taken. But as the morning rush took hold, my worries vanished, and I focused on the tasks at hand—delivering slices of cake and coffees to customers, clearing tables, helping an elderly man locate a gardening book, and, when George was swamped with making coffee, putting through orders and taking payments. I even made a few decent-looking coffees while George took a quick break to use the restroom. I didn’t have any problems with the payment system, but I did struggle to hear as the café got busier, especially soft-spoken customers. I hated having to ask people to repeat themselves multiple times, some doing so with a hint of frustration in their voice. It reminded me of Tania, who hadn’t been particularly patient in those situations. I just need to find my damn hearing aid. Hearing aid technology had come far in the past few decades, so much so that my hearing aid was barely noticeable when I wore it. The only downside was that my hearing aid was now so small it was easy to misplace. I was sure it would turn up somewhere—hopefully sooner rather than later.

“Would you like to go for a break now, before the lunch rush starts?” George asked.

I looked at the bronze clock on the wall, surprised to see it was already 11:30 a.m. I’d eaten breakfast early today, sitting out on the back deck, enjoying my yogurt and granola, and was definitely ready for some more food.

I grabbed a pre-made bagel from the display case and took a seat at the same table I’d sat at yesterday, facing the counter. I told myself it was so I could monitor how busy the café was getting, in case George needed me to jump back in to help, and had nothing to do with being able to observe my rather attractive boss from a safe distance.

To distract myself, I scrolled through my emails as I devoured the bagel. Spam. Spam. Emma.

Hi, Hannah,

I hope you’re settling in well. I wanted to check if you”ll be able to sign the books this week? I need to tell the publisher when they’re done so they can arrange the pick-up. They want to get them back ASAP so they can get them ready for distribution before the publication date–Friday is the absolute latest.

Many thanks,

Emma

Shit. I’d been so focused on my new job that the whole reason I’d come to Novel Gossip in the first place had taken a backseat in my mind. My heart sank. I’d been worried about Ben and the women who’d approached him for a job returning to the café and blowing my cover, but now I’d have to do it myself. Today was Wednesday, so Friday was only two days away.

The thought of confessing to George made my stomach turn. How would she react to the news? I hated the idea that she might think I’d lied to her. I also didn’t want my identity as H. M. Stuart to affect the way she saw me. She seemed very down to earth, but she was also a fan of my books and that might affect our dynamic. I’d been enjoying our relaxed interactions. I didn’t want that to change.

Not only that, but I’d been enjoying working at Novel Gossip. The thought of returning to my isolated existence no longer seemed as appealing as it had only yesterday morning. I sighed. Despite all that, I knew this wasn’t a sustainable situation.

Someone cleared their throat, and I looked up to see George smiling at me, her adorable dimple on full display. “I made you a coffee and thought you might want to try a slice of this as well.” She placed a latte and a generous slice of the chocolate-almond-date cake in front of me.

“Thank you! I’ve been eyeing the cake all morning.”

“I noticed.” George grinned.

Heat shot up my face at the thought that George had seen me pining after the cake. I hope she didn”t also notice me eavesdropping on her and Olivia. My heart warmed as I realized she’d also remembered my coffee order from yesterday. That was so thoughtful.

“If I do say so myself, it’s one of my better ones.”

My eyes widened. George made it? I’d assumed Romina made all the sweets. I watched her walk back to the counter and then stuck a forkful of cake in my mouth.

Holy shit. I closed my eyes. The cake was incredible. Not only could George make a mean latte and give great book recommendations, but she could bake as well. If she and Olivia were dating, Olivia was one lucky woman.

I spent a few more minutes savoring the coffee and cake and then focused my mind back on the problem of the books that needed signing. I sighed. There was no getting around my predicament. I’d have to fess up to George at the end of my shift and ask if she’d mind me staying late to sign them all. I just hoped to god that my confession wouldn’t make George look at me any differently. And that maybe I could keep working at Novel Gossip a little longer.

It was almost closing time,and after another busy day, the café was quiet. Only one man, hunched over a laptop nursing the dregs of a cappuccino, remained.

I was stacking clean mugs, still warm from the dishwasher, on top of the coffee machine, when George spoke.

“Hannah, once you’ve finished with that, would you mind helping restock the shelves? I’ve stacked the boxes of new books we need to unpack in the kids’ section. If you’re not sure where any of them go, just put them aside, and I’ll look at them later.”

I turned to find George smiling at me. Was it my imagination, or had her gaze just jumped from my ass to my face? Was George checking me out? My heart leaped at the thought.

“Of course.” Pleased to have an excuse to spend more time in the book aisles, I walked to the back of the bookstore and set to work. I glanced at the blurb of each book I unpacked, telling myself that it was important I familiarized myself with the new books so I could give customers recommendations, before remembering that my days at Novel Gossip were likely to be numbered. My stomach sank at the thought.

Twenty minutes later, I was kneeling on the floor, opening another box of books when George appeared, her face flushed.

“Oh my god! I just got off the phone with the distributor, and it turns out that The Realm of Furies delivery wasn’t a mistake after all! Apparently, H. M. Stuart is staying in Sapphire Springs, and they were delivered here so he could sign them. I left work early Monday afternoon, and the publicist that was arranging the delivery spoke to Ben instead. Things have been so hectic I missed the email Ben sent me about it.”

I stood, legs shaky, and braced myself. Okay, Hannah. This is your moment to tell George who you are and what really brought you to Novel Gossip. I took a deep breath, but before I got any further, George started speaking again, her eyes bright with excitement.

“I’m not usually one to get starstruck, but I’m really nervous about meeting him. He’s such a talented writer. Have you read any of his books?” Thankfully, George was so excited she didn’t stop for an answer. “He’s incredible at world-building, turning classic fantasy tropes on their heads and exploring moral and ethical issues. But he somehow still manages to make them fast-paced and a lot of fun to read. And he does an amazing job at creating complex, strong characters—especially female characters.”

Pride welled up at hearing George’s compliments.

I must’ve had a strange expression on my face, because George caught my eye and then chuckled, shaking her head. “Sorry. See what I mean? I’ll make a complete fool of myself around him when he comes in. I may need you for moral support—or at least to kick me if I start fangirling too hard.”

I let out a nervous laugh, unsure what to say. I knew I shouldn’t let this continue any further. I was just digging a deeper hole for myself the longer this went on. But after George’s rave review, it felt even more awkward coming clean to her. George seemed so worried about making a good impression on H. M. Stuart that surely it would be cruel to reveal my identity immediately after she’d showered H. M. Stuart with compliments and specifically said she did not want to embarrass herself in front of “him.” Perhaps I could wait to tell her tomorrow, when the memory of this conversation might have faded a little in her mind, to help dampen the humiliation. But was I grasping at excuses to put off telling her or just being reasonable? I didn’t have a clue.

“The last customer has left, and I’ve locked the front door, so I can help put the rest of these away,” George said, bending over the opened box and pulling out a handful of books.

Relieved by the change of topic, I pulled out a few more. As we worked, George told me about some books she’d enjoyed recently, her eyes sparkling.

“This is another great book, if you like high fantasy. I’ve got an advanced copy you’re more than welcome to have if you’re interested.” George held up a copy of Chris Chen’s latest book from the box of new releases. I opened my mouth, about to say I’d adored it too, and then slammed my mouth shut. I’d been given an advanced copy as well and had written a blurb for the book George was holding. A blurb that was now in quotes on the top left corner of the cover. Probably best not to mention I’d read it.

“I love Chris Chen,” I said instead, scanning the other books in the box to look for something that would draw the conversation away from fantasy authors, which was proving fraught. My eyes landed on a book. “Oh, and I’ve been looking forward to this one as well.” I grabbed a copy of Alison Cochrun’s latest novel. I only received fantasy books to blurb, so I had to wait like everyone else for anticipated romance reads.

George’s face flickered for a second with an expression I couldn’t make out. And then heat rose in my cheeks as I realized, in my haste to change the subject, I might have unintentionally signaled to her that I was queer. Not that a lot of straight people didn’t read queer romance, especially the big names like Casey McQuiston, Alison Cochrun, and Ashley Herring Blake. And why did I care if George knew I was a lesbian, anyway?

“I haven’t read that one yet,” George said. “But I loved Kiss Her Once for Me. I can’t remember if I mentioned this, but you get an employee discount on any books in the store.”

“That sounds dangerous.” I grinned, pulling the last book out of the box and placing it on the shelf.

We both stood up.

“Trust me, it is,” George said, her eyes sparkling.

As we walked back to the counter, George cleared her throat. I looked over to her just in time to catch another indecipherable expression cross her face. “Hey, absolutely no pressure—you probably have plans anyway or might just want to go home and crash—but tonight, a few friends and I are going to an outdoor movie night down at Dockside Park if you’re interested in coming? Ben was going to come, but he obviously can’t, so we have a spare ticket you’re more than welcome to have. Dinner is included.”

Nerves fluttered in my belly. I hadn’t socialized properly with anyone for months. I’d been getting along well with George, but that had come about organically as we worked together. The thought of being thrust into a situation where the sole purpose was to interact with strangers sent my anxiety spiking. Before the break-up with Tania, my social anxiety hadn’t been this bad, but months of avoiding people had clearly exacerbated things. Would I be able to hold a conversation with George’s friends? And I really should go home and workshop how to tell George I was her favorite author, H. M. Stuart. But spending time with George, outdoors on a gorgeous evening, sounded a lot more appealing. If talking to her friends was a struggle, at least she’d be there too. And maybe, in a more relaxed setting outside of work, the perfect opportunity would present itself to confess to George.

“Thanks. That would be nice,” I said, hoping I’d made the right call.

“Awesome. We’re meeting there at eight p.m.” George unlocked the drawer under the counter and handed me my bag. “Oh, and before I forget, are you happy to hold on to a spare key to the café? Just in case something happens, and I need you to open one day or lock up. Ben has a spare too.”

Guilt mixed with pleasure rose in my body. George trusting me enough to share the key to Novel Gossip was touching, but it also signaled just how deep into this situation I’d already gotten myself. Would George still trust me once I told her who I really was?